Mission Impossible
by Callypse
Summary: One of young Dick Grayson's earliest missions. Lighthearted one-shot.


_So. It's been a while. I'm trying to get back into writing and decided to start off gently with a one-shot. Hope you enjoy._

Dick crept silently down the corridor, glancing about anxiously. He shouldn't be here – he had been explicitly told to stay away. If he were caught... he didn't want to think about that. But he wouldn't be. He was Robin now, handpicked and trained by Batman himself. He knew how to walk softly.

Dick approached a doorway and paused, listening for signs of activity; this was the first occupied room he needed to bypass. The room was quiet, yet the light that filtered out under the door tempered his progress. His hands flitted to his waist and then he remembered: no belt. Frowning briefly, he gauged the width of the doorway and took two steps back. Moving with both grace and power he launched himself high into the air, tucking into a ball and landing noiselessly on the other side, confident no shadow had been cast across the floor to alert the room's occupant to his presence. He hesitated another moment to ascertain he remained undetected, then continued on his mission.

Squinting into the darkness, he located the staircase at the end of the hall. Dick quickly reviewed his intended trajectory. _Down the stairs, left turn, right turn, and then right again. _If he was quick, he could get the item and be safely out in less than 30 seconds. He didn't expect to encounter any more obstacles; if his intel was correct, the building currently held only one occupant aside from himself, the one he had already made it past. The rest of his mission would be cake.

His light footfalls reflecting his acrobat heritage, Dick stole down the stairs and made a sharp left turn at the bottom. He continued forward for several steps, then turned right and immediately right again. His eyes swept the room's shelving as he attempted to locate the object of his mission. Dick felt his pulse begin to race when it became clear that it was not there. _But it was there before! I saw it myself, right before Batman…_ His thoughts trailed off as a pang of guilt stabbed him in the stomach. If Batman knew what he was doing right now, he would certainly have a few choice words for Dick. But what Batman didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And Dick needed this more than Batman could possibly know.

Not about to abandon his mission, Dick contemplated his situation. He was nearly positive that the item he was seeking hadn't been destroyed, only relocated. And it likely hadn't gotten far, since he had seen it mere hours ago. He had probably even been the cause of its removal, given the evening's earlier altercation. Dick sighed inwardly; he should have seen this coming. But no matter. He refused to leave empty-handed.

He closed his eyes to better focus his blossoming detective skills. Knowing what he did about the item's keeper and the circumstances surrounding its disappearing act, he scanned the room again as he evaluated potential hiding places. There! Above his head was a small cupboard. Though well beyond his small stature's reach, he quickly scaled a set of shelving, manoeuvring himself until he was level with the cupboard. With one hand steadying him on the shelving, he stretched sideways until his fingers were able to reach the handle, his toes barely maintaining their precarious purchase. A gentle tug revealed the cupboard was not locked, and a small sigh of relief escaped his lips as the cupboard opened silently, revealing its precious contents. Dick bit his lower lip in concentration as he edged the container toward himself, unable to fully grasp it with one hand. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted the lid, but he found himself pausing before dipping in to collect his prize. Something was wrong.

Dick held his breath as he strained to decipher what was disrupting his mission. He had heard…something. For a brief moment he thought he had imagined the noise, but then it came again. Footsteps. Inaudible to the untrained ear, but Dick was perceptive. He could hear the footsteps, and, worse, could recognize them. Batman. Heading directly towards him.

Dick's heart leapt in his throat as his pulse began to hammer. A deep sense of dread knotted his stomach, and he began to panic. What was Batman doing here? Batman had specifically told him that he would be across town, keeping an eye on the Mayor's charity ball. Dick knew the ball wasn't over yet, _knew_ that he had given his mission sufficient time for success. There was no possible explanation, unless... it had been a ruse. Could Batman really have manipulated him into disobeying orders so that he could catch him in the act? Dick didn't know. But he did know that he had not come this far to give up without a fight.

Launching himself from his perch on the shelving, Dick grabbed the container with both hands and tumbled to the ground, his treasure tucked safely to his chest. Somersaulting into a crouch, he noted Batman's quickening pace coming from behind him, undoubtedly spurred on by the loud _thump_. Ahead and to his left was a door that led directly outside, but he knew it would be alarmed at this time of night. Ahead and to his right was a larger room, though itself a dead end. The windows were locked and also guarded by alarms. In mere moments the Batman would be upon him, and his mission would be over. He had no choice. He had to destroy the evidence.

Ripping the lid off the container, he stuffed as many of the spherical items into his mouth as he could, nearly choking in his haste to swallow. His back was still to his point of entry when he heard the growl.

"Dick."

Dick froze, mouth still full of his bounty. He turned slowly towards the voice, his bulging cheeks proclaiming his guilt. He could feel Batman's gaze burning into him, though he refused to look up from where he was kneeling on the ground to meet his eyes.

"I thought I told you no more cookies tonight."

Dick's mouth suddenly felt too dry, and he reflexively swallowed the half-chewed cookie mass in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he tore his gaze from the nearly-emptied cookie jar in his lap and managed to meet Batman's – Bruce's – eyes. His mentor's face was stern, but there was a hint of a twinkle in his steely eyes.

Dick opened his mouth to justify himself, to apologize, to say _anything,_ but all that came out was a sickly sweet belch. Dick felt his face flush crimson as he dropped his head to his chest in embarrassment, then snapped it back up at the sound of Bruce's laugh.

Bruce wrapped a hand around Dick's arm, lifting him to his feet. There was no longer even a hint of reproach on his face as he guided Dick to a chair in the next room, the cookie jar held in his other hand. He placed the jar on the table and returned to the kitchen, coming back moments later with two glasses of milk. He placed one in front of Dick and then seated himself to Dick's left, helping himself to the two remaining cookies.

Dick stared at him, blue eyes wide in bewilderment. "I'm not in trouble?" he asked incredulously. "I thought you were trying to catch me disobeying you."

Bruce swallowed half his milk in one gulp and gave Dick a look. "And why would I do that?"

Dick pondered this for a moment, then shrugged when he failed to come up with an answer.

"I'm not trying to trick you, or manipulate you, or set you up for failure, Dick. I told you that you couldn't have any more cookies because I didn't want you to make yourself sick."

"But then why are you back so early from the Mayor's ball?" Dick asked, still puzzled.

"It was a quiet night. No reason for me to linger," Bruce replied.

Dick took a sip of his milk, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. "So you're not mad at me? I'm not in trouble?"

Bruce gave him a smirk. "I'm not mad at you, and you're not in trouble, at least not with me. But if you knew I was out of the house and you still put in all that effort of sneaking around, I'm guessing you know who you'll be in trouble with."

As if punctuating Bruce's statement, Dick heard footsteps approaching the kitchen from the hallway and mutterings in a distinctly British accent. Dick felt his eyes widen in fear.

"Oh no," he whispered. "Alfred!" He looked desperately from the empty cookie jar to the smile threatening Bruce's lips. "Bruce, you have to help me!"

Bruce finished his milk and pushed away from the table, hands up in mock defense as he backed out of the room. "Sorry, partner," he chuckled. "I've had my share of tongue-lashings for raiding the cookie jar. This one's all you."


End file.
